


I Turn To Wax and Melt Like This

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 05:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11867268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: When Chanyeol's good, Minseok lets him bite





	I Turn To Wax and Melt Like This

**Author's Note:**

> warning: biting, daddy kink
> 
> title from ms mr “btsk”

When Chanyeol's good, Minseok lets him bite. His thighs, his straining arms, his collarbone, that sweet sweet place just beneath his jaw where Chanyeol can taste his pulse, the vibration of his soft, low moans.

When Chanyeol's good, Minseok lets himself be stamped and claimed with searing, desperate marks of possession. Only Chanyeol's, only his to mark only because he's good for Minseok, so pretty for Minseok, his to keep, his to fuck.

And if Chanyeol’s been even _better_ , truly truly _earned it_ , Minseok lets Chanyeol fuck him, too, presenting himself to be taken, all red lips and flushed skin, so small and slight but oh so solid, so steady, so strong beneath his reverent-heavy fingertips, around his cock.

And if he's tried his very best for Minseok, been the very fucking best at fucking Minseok—Daddy, Daddy, _Daddy fuck fuck fuck_ —just just just exactly how Daddy likes, Minseok bites back, too. Midfuck, searing and stinging "I love you"s and "you're so good"s branded along his throat, his collarbone, his earlobe if he fucks hard enough, begs hard enough, pleases hard enough.

And Chanyeol is never ever hesitant to beg, ever ever eager to please.

He’s good, so very good for Minseok, the best baby that Daddy could ever hope to have, Minseok has praised on his better days. Everything that Minseok could ever want.

 

Chanyeol— _honestly_ —hasn’t even been that good, but Minseok is spread open on his blood red sheets, nonetheless, naked save a pair of basketball socks, the woven bracelet Chanyeol had gotten him for Christmas earlier this morning, a loose loose red foil Christmas bow around his neck, nonetheless.

The Christmas lights cast soft shadows across his pale, beautiful, soft, soft skin as he beckons Chanyeol forward with a slow smile, the slower curl of his fingers.

And there's been something particularly indulgent in tonight's touches, lazy promises and lazier touches, heady and hot. Minseok stamps a painfully potent _baby boy_ into Chanyeol’s trembling, too tight skin as Chanyeol falls into him, still fully dressed, helplessly eager.

Minseok, he’s Chanyeol's present tonight, and he's letting it be known, letting Chanyeol take and take until he's had his fill. In whichever he wants. For however long he wants. Chanyeol, he’s allowed to bite. Chanyeol, he’s allowed to mark. Chanyeol, he’s allowed to _take_ , to fuck, to touch, to come, doesn’t doesn’t even have to _worry_ about asking. Minseok is his, his gift.

Chanyeol shudders at the wet, whispered words, a burn settling deep in his spine as he meets Minseok’s dark, dark eyes, losing himself briefly in their liquid fathoms of want.

“Tell me,” Minseok is whispering, his lips popping obscenely on the syllables, tone saccharine and entirely too hot. His small hands drag down the sharp contours of Chanyeol’s taut, cotton-clad shoulders and back, the touch affectionate, so very fond. And there’s just the slightest, most delicious stinging authority in the sting of his fingernails, the vaguest hint of impatience as he scrapes over Chanyeol’s scalp, provoking a heavy, helpless shudder. “Tell me, Chanyeollie.”

“Hyung,” Chanyeol offers by way of response, nuzzling into the crook of Minseok’s neck, his voice already so wavery, his tone strained and needy, lips catching as they drag over the foil of Minseok’s Christmas bow. Minseok presses more firmly with his fingers, sharper, hotter, and Chanyeol shudders even more heavily, swallowing past the thick moan in his throat. “Hyung,” he tries again. “I want to touch you. Want to— _fuck_.“

Minseok smiles against his cheek, obliges him with the languid invitation of a bared throat, parted lips, a lilting “However you want, my Chanyeollie.”

His, his for the taking, Chanyeol wants him _his_.

And Minseok, he’s a play of softness, a muted sort of unraveling, quiet hitches of breath, soft trembling skin, the occasional graze of a gorgeously flushed and pulsing cock against Chanyeol’s waist, his stomach, his shoulders as Chanyeols bites and kisses and licks and sucks and worships and worships and worships his way down Minseok’s taut, tantalizing body.

The hollow of his throat, the contours of his chest, the pebbled invitation of his nipples, the arched definition of his ribs, the concave dip of his trembling stomach. Chanyeol lingers the longest there, lips and tongue and teeth tickiling at the fine hair as Minseok gasps—light, so soft, but still, still, still because of Chaneyol—his thighs quivering just the slighest, just in the most perfect way near Chanyeol’s sides. The cotton of his socks drags against Chanyeol’s skin.

And Minseok is littered with bites, beautifully bruised and branded and breathless, marked and marred by the time Chanyeol has his teeth grazing Minseok’s jutting hipbones. Louder with his praises tonight, he’s truly Chanyeol’s gift, because Chaneyol is just so fucking _good_ for him.

And Minseok’s wonderfully affected, his lip caught between his teeth, fingers tight around Chanyeol’s shoulders, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. He’s flushed all the way to his chest, his cock dragging insistently against Chanyeol’s skin, the red of that bow so achingly pronounced agains this bobbing throat. It serves as the most heartbreakingly gorgeous reminder.

Waiting and wanting, he’s beautiful and oh so inviting, indulgently pliant. Chanyeol is briefly overwhelmed, aching still with the desire to give him more, earn him _more_ even though he doesn’t _have_ to, he knows, he knows, he knows.

Chanyeol suckles him into his mouth, groaning heavily at the familiar musky taste, the heat, the glorious stretch, and Minseok’s stomach muscles jump beneath his palms, hips chasing the friction, seeking out further pleasure at Chanyeol’s mouth.

Chanyeol’s so hard, it hurts.

“So good,” Minseok breathes. “So good.”

But Chanyeol, he can be better, and he swallows as much as he can, gorging himself on Minseok’s response, reveling in every pulse of Minseok’s flesh in his mouth, every drag against his pliant lips and ready tongue. Sloppy and fast with his eagerness, but good he knows. Just exactly how Daddy likes, too.

By the third bob, Minseok’s hands have tangled his hair. By the fourth, they’ve slide down to tug at his ear. Hard, Minseok’s thumbnails scraping down the shell of his ear.

And Chanyeol pulls back on the next glide with an obscene pop, a more obscene moan, eyelashes fluttering heavily, blinking past the tears coating them. He lets Minseok’s cock drag along his cheek as his fingers stroke down Minseok’s length. Mouthing clumsy at the head, his tongue dances across pronounced veins, settles at the very base, curling lazily as he hums, savors, distracts himself from the sharp, almost painful jolt of heady arousal.

Minseok tugs once more, and Chanyeol gasps loudly, hot breath rushing forth in a ruined plea for more.

And once more, the pad of Minseok’s thumb dragging down his earlobe, and Chanyeol shifts to just the right of Minseok’s cock, biting helplessly on the sensitive skin with a wrecked whimper— _Daddy, Daddy, please_ —

And Minseok moans his name, too, louder than usual for Chanyeol’s sake, as his gift.

His fingers whisper over Chanyeol’s jawline, mold around the nape of his neck. Minseok urges his gaze upwards.

“Tell me, Chanyeollie,” he repeats, and his free hand shifts from Chanyeol’s shoulder to his own cock, stroking once, twice while Chanyeol watches, enraptured, wanting. It’s saliva-slick, so hard. _Hard because of me. Hard for me_. “Tell me, baby boy.” His voice is breathier, frayed with pleasure, with need as his grip tightens, fingers twist.

Chanyeol wants so many— _too_ many—contrasting things. His mouth or his fingers or his cock, in Chanyeol’s mouth, in Chanyeol’s ass, in Chanyeol’s fist as he eat him out, dragging along Chanyeol’s navel as he rides him. Chanyeol, he just just just— _wants_.

“Touch me,” he begs, moans. “ _Please_.”

Minseok drags him up and presses him into the mattress in the next breath. He knows already just how Chanyeol likes to be touched, mercifully not asking for further clarification

And Minseok, he's tearing at Chanyeol’s layers, stripping him bare and needy. And he’s biting his way down Chanyeol’s body in turn, too. Harder, more painful, just exactly the way that Chanyeol likes, soothing the sting with his tongue, his lips, his words immediately after.

“Taste so good,” he praises in a heated rasp near Chanyeol’s earlobe, his throat, his collarbone, his ribs, his hip. “ _Feel so good_.” His tiny palms dance across Chanyeol’s goosebumped skin, tearing him apart stroke by stroke, kiss by kiss, bite by bite.

And all too soon, he’s sucking him down, too. Achingly red lips sealed tight around the girth of Chanyeol’s painfully heavy arousal, his dark glittering eyelashes fluttering wiith every rise and descent.

A gift, his gift, Minseok doesn’t halt Chanyeol’s movements even though Chanyeol’s hips jump, his hand tighten probably painfully in Minseok’s hair. He’s indulgent even as he chokes briefly on Chanyeol’s cock, moaning around his enthuastic bucks. He pulls away after a handul of long, succulent glides, mouthing down Chanyeol’s erection, his tongue flicking and teasing, wonderful and wet.

Chanyeol is a mess of needy moans, even needier thrusts, trembling and mindless, losing himself in the white haze of Minseok’s touch, his want.

He arches into the dizzying scrape of his teeth at the base of his cock, the zip of pain lacing with the pleasure, drugging and hot as it races up his spine, tears an even more vulnerable sound of of his throat. Chaneyol moans helplessly loud—louder—on the second drag.

Lips pursed at the base of his cock, eyes glittering and dark as they burn up at him, Minseok’s breathing hard, too, flushed, too, disheleveled and desperate for this, too.

Mercifcully, tortuously, he’s still touching him, though his mouth has shifted, hot breath fanning out over Chanyeol’s cock.

Chanyeol’s gift. His to claim.

“Daddy,” he whimpers, and Minseok pulls further back. Small and slight, but somehow still looming, somehow still so in control. A heavy swallow as Minseok hums so painfully near his cock, flicks his wrist. “Ride me. Please _fuck_ me.”

Efficient, eager for it, too, Minseok doesn’t make much of a show of the prep tonight. Not more than Chanyeol wants or needs, as he straddles Chanyeol’s waist and eases himself open, stroke by stroke.

His tongue peeks out of his mouth, eyebrows furrow, chest hitches as he adds a second, teases in a third, and Chanyeol is utterly rapt, captivated, fingers splayed across Minseok’s waist.

A curl, a spearing thrust, tiny pink fingers spreading just _so_ , and Chanyeol is moaning, too. In desperate anticipation, tense with it, his fingers gliding further down, thumb teasing over the bobbing head of Minseok’s cock.

Minseok thrusts again, faster, curls again, spine arching in a beautiful bow, up towards Chanyeol’s fingers and more fully onto his own.

His moan is soft, but so rich and thick with pleasure.

And without persmission, because this is his _gift_ , Chanyeol’s groping forward to touch, too. Sliding down, down, down, glancing up quicklly to make sure it is really okay, he works one finger in beside Minseok’s, groaning heavily at the fluttering tightness, the dark knowledge that soon he’ll be buried deep inside and falling apart.

Three tandem thrusts later, and Minseok is pulling free with a slick, slick pop, the clumsiness of his hands giving him away as he fumbles for the condom, more lube, sliding both onto Chanyeol with a trembling familiarity.

He climbs back onto lap, looming and gorgeous, and Chanyeol groans again. Louder. Needier.

“Please, Daddy,” he rasps, husky and ruined. A reminder, a plea.

Minseok smirks in response, equal parts hot and fond, caressing Chanyeol’s side in a long, lingering stroke.

Minseok likes them big, he'd told Chanyeol the first time he'd fucked him. He likes them big and trembling and gasping for more. Just just just _exactly_ like Chanyeol. _So good_ , he’d seared, bitten into the skin of Chanyeol's quaking thighs at his shoulders that first night. _So good. I want to fucking keep you_.

He has. He has.

Minseok’s hands continue up up up, skating over his nipples, skittering over his sternum, before coming to rest near his throat. Lazy and loose.

Chanyeol shivers against his palm, lips and legs parting further even though Minseok had pronounced this a gift, told him he doesn’t have to beg, doesn’t have to earn.

Chanyeol is still so desperate to please, drinking in Minseok’s praise and begging for more.

But this, this is his _gift_ , Minseok naked and eager and his for the taking. And the socks are a gift, too, Chanyeol realizes. Chanyeol earning Daddy's nakedness, peeling them off slow and reverent as Minseok swivels his hips with a small, secret smile.

Full bared now, braced on Chanyeol’s trembling stomach, Minseok drags his bare ass back against Chanyeol’s aching erection, his cheeks catching on the flared head of Chanyeol’s cock. He lets out a low, low moan, repeats the action as Chanyeol’s hands fist in the sheets, twisting tight with the thwarted desire to tear and tug.

Laughing, chiding, Minseok’s fingers curl around Chanyeol’s wrists. Strong, strong, strong, arresting, in control and Chanyeol is briefly deliciously pinned, immobilized, swimming with arousal, before Minseok remembers himself, remembers their game and laces their fingers together instead. Allows him to guide instead.

“Please,” Chanyeol manages, sitting up, digging his fingers into the sharp jut of Minseok’s hipbones. “Daddy, please.”

He trembles bodily as Minseok sits fully on his cock, Minseok groaning with a soft soft puff of breath near Chanyeol's throat. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, pulse racing beneath Chanyeol’s lips, and Minseok breathing is unsteady, movements sluggish as his small teeth bore into his plush, red bottom lip.

He swivels his hips, the sound he releases more a hum than a moan, but so hot and strained and potent nonetheless. And his body is deliciously slick, deliciously tight, delicious hot, dragging perfectly, gripping at him helplessly, squeezing tight an invitation. Chanyeol struggles hard to stay still, lips parted around a heavy moan as the hazy pleasure overwhelms him.

He’s so inviting, grounding and perfect inside, and Chanyeol, he’s already so painfully affected. But tense, still because he’s good, so very good for Daddy.

But Minseok reminds him around the breathiest hum that he doesn’t _have_ to, that he’s free to do as he pleases.

And Chanyeol is nearly delirious with the power as Minseok gives him complete control, lets him set the pace into something deep, slow, dragging, a series of breathless pleas his only guidance.

“More,” he gasps as Chanyeol rocks up into him, angle precise or precise enough. Minseok marks his approval, underscores his plea with the burn of his teeth at Chanyeol’s heaving throat. “More, please, Chanyeollie,” and Chanyeol is quick to obey, helpless to deny him.

A drugging, drugging pleasure races through his veins, clouds his mind, coaxes his cock faster, harder, right—right for Daddy—as Minseok grinds and gasps and asks, _begs_ to keep going just just just exactly like that, he’s so good for him.

It’s heady, the power, overwhelming in its newness, its scope, Chanyeol controlling the volume, the pitch of Minseok’s moans, the hitch of his breath, the tremble of his limbs with every push of his cock.

Minseok rewards him with a rich moan, a succulent bite, the lolling invitation of his neck. Chanyeol mouths at the smooth, sweaty expanse, licking, kissing, nipping as he drowns in the fathoms of pleasure. He worries the delicate, gorgeous, flushed flesh between his teeth, moaning into him at every resounding slap of Minseok’s ass against his thighs, biting harder the harder Minseok rides him.

Minseok’s grip is biting now, his fingers marking and hurting in the most delicious way, now that his mouth is otherwise occupied, open enough to moan softly, to praise and sear in a new way.

“Fuck me,” Minseok breathes, grinding, circling his hips in a way that has Chanyeol seeing stars, has heat roaring through his body. “Don’t stop fucking me, Chanyeollie.”

He won’t. He won’t. Never never never, Daddy. Never.

And Chanyeol’s taking, it’s really Minseok taking, Chanyeol glowing beneath his breathless praise, collapsing back into the mattress and just accepting every fuck downward, captive beneath Minseok’s every fluid drop.

Pinned and quaking beneath him like this, Chanyeol has the distinct feeling that he's being torn apart, begging, whimpering, falling to pieces, useless and clumsy in the haze of pleasure, but he's so good like this Minseok has told him, at his very best like this.

Minseok’s breathing is ragged, his gaze hot, and Chanyeol trembles at the utter burn of his appraisal, appreciation.

“Chanyeollie,” he says. “Baby boy.”

And moaning, panting, gasping, quaking, Minseok is using Chanyeol to feel good, telling him how good he is for it as a result. So, so, so fucking good at making Minseok feel good, so good at fucking Daddy. He feels so amazing inside him. So very perfect. He’s gonna come. Chanyeol’s fucking him so good that Minseok is gonna come all over himself just for Chanyeollie.

Minseok shifts, draping himself over Chanyeol’s body, but still fucking down, praising, praising, praising.

And Chanyeol falls apart at the heady burn of Minseok's approval, his lips, tongue teeth dragging down Chanyeol's jaw towards his ear, biting and searing there as Chanyeol trembles and whimpers, pushes his hips up, invites Minseok to ride him harder, fuck him more thoroughly.

Minseok is a reverent murmur, the most delicious _baby Chanyeollie_. Sure and solid and steady as Chanyeol stumbles closer and closer to the edge, groping helplessly for Minseok’s warm, perfect skin,

“Daddy,” he sobs, and Minseok manages a laugh, his hair falling in his eyes, bow distended at his neck, lips parted with pleasure, fingers teasing along his scalp, dancing over his ears. “Daddy,” he whimpers again. “Daddy, _please_.”

And those small, strong fingers are creeping down his side before settling solid and grounding on his hips. Minseok is shifting, dragging deliciously against him as he rises with a breathy moan.

“Hang on for the ride, baby boy.”

And Chanyeol does—for dear life, surrendering, relenting, wanting, wanting, wanting.

And Chanyeol is once more sinking into the warm waves of Minseok's control, drifting in the fathoms of pleasure, anchored only by Minseok's eyes, his small hands, his muted moans, the heat, the heat, the _heat_. Minseok breaks him down into the most perfect tiny tiny pieces, all begging still for his approval and love.

It’s so so so fucking good like this, building up higher and higher and higher with every slap of Minseok’s ass against his thighs, with every scrape of Minseok’s nails at his waist. The pleasure, the burn is churning deep deep deep in his gut, nearly overwhelming him, teasing at the edges of his vision as he hurtles closer and closer towards orgasm.

“I’m gonna come,” he confesses, his cock pulsing, balls tight, limbs taut with the desire, the need to release, please please _please_.

And he’s anticipating the delicious scold, a searing _so eager, Chanyeollie, please hold on for me_ , a breathless chiding laugh, but it doesn’t come, Minseok instead humming around a moan, an acknowledgement, permission.

Of course, he can. He can. He _can_.

But even then, oh even then—

“Are you close?” Chanyeol asks, ruined, wrecked, and Minseok nods sluggishly, hazy, heavy-lidded eyes locking on his as he breathes past a moan. His neck lollls back. With his trembling lips and furrowed eyebrows and a bobbing throat, he’s the most beautiful thing that Chanyeol’s ever seen.

And Chanyeol’s entire body suffuses with heat, with even more fondness, his Daddy is so so so so good for him.

“Please come,” he whispers, fingers reaching, groping catching on the pucker of Minseok’s nipple on he grabs towards Minseok’s throat. “Daddy please, please come.”

Minseok stutters out another moan, so wonderfully pitchy and wet. His cock bobs between their bodies, drags once, twice across Chanyeol’s stomach before Minseok’s hand in sliding down to catch it in his own fist, stroke it fast, sloppy with need.

Chanyeol fucks up into him rough, fast, helping him along as Minseok rocks down on his cock.

It takes four, five deliberate thrusts, four, five deliberate drags of Minseok’s fingers, and Minseok is coming hard and deep, clenching painfully tight, shooting hot across his navel, his chest.

And it’s the most filthy reward, the most beautiful beautiful gift, then, the streak of Minseok's come across his skin, smeared there as Minseok brace himself through orgasm, then collapses back onto the mattress, limbs upturning, neck rolling limply to the side. And Chanyeol falls into him with a ruined moan, following him, kissing his neck, his shoulder, his jawline, nipping, too, as Minseok breathes past a lazy, sated moan.

“On me,” Minseok urges. “Want you to come on me, Chanyeollie. Come on, Daddy.”

_And he’d told him before, confessed it to him before, but he’d never, ever thought that he’d be allowed to—Minseok is his gift, the best fucking gift he could ever—_

And Chanyeol is snapping off the condom, quaking, gasping, moaning as he grips himself tight, his strokes sloppy and clumsy with need.

Minseok’s mouth is still parted, his tongue peeking out as he watches him. “Chanyeollie,” he whispers once, so wonderfully warm with the afterglow, wanting still, cajoling still. He follows with a breathy “For me,” and Chanyeol melts, trembling violently as he comes across Minseok’s flushed, sweaty skin.

Minseok’s braced already for Chanyeol’s impact, his body a warm, welcome cradle, a safe safe safe place to fall apart. Minseok’s fingers thread through Chanyeol’s sweaty strands, lips settling at his temple with a fond hum, a lazy caress, a murmured _baby boy_.

**Author's Note:**

> another 2k15 fic


End file.
